


I loved you then, I love you know

by MonaWrites



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 00:23:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6589264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonaWrites/pseuds/MonaWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He says, “You’re a jerk and I’m going to kiss you now”, waits for Bucky’s approval and joins their mouths together, softly, reverently; he kisses Bucky’s mouth like his own life depended on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I loved you then, I love you know

**Author's Note:**

> the lovely diana sent me on tumblr the following prompt: 
> 
> "steve and bucky's first kiss happened as an accident, like, it wasn't planned, it just kind of happened when they least expected and they both were surprised they decided not to bring it up until a few days later one of them has the guts to ask about it and then they both realized they always loved each other, i'm so sorry i know this might make no sense, it sounded better in my head hahah"
> 
> i mean i wanted to make a short story but then my feels wouldnt let me keep it short

Steve doesn’t know how it happens, or how to explain it, at least.

 

It was just a portrait.

 

And then that portrait turned into a very soft but heated kiss.

 

Their first kiss, Steve wants to add.

 

It’s just that Bucky was grumbling something about Sam not improving in hand-to-hand combat, when he pulled his hair up in a ponytail. Steve felt his mouth part in awe, and his fingers itched for a piece of paper and a pencil.

 

Bucky isn’t impressed when Steve asks him to pose for him. “I’m sorry, you want to what, now?”

 

“Come on, Buck. It’s not like I haven’t done this before”

 

It’s Bucks turn to look slightly taken aback. “You used to—I mean, we’ve done this, you and I? _Seriously_? Why can’t I remember it?”

 

Steve winces a little, feeling somewhat guilty. “ _I_ ’ve done this before. You—Well, you never knew about it.”

 

Back in the forties, and even long before the war, when Bucky shaved in their shared bathroom or fixed his tie in front of a mirror, Steve would pay attention to the smallest details on Bucky’s face to keep them in his memory and sketch them late at night, once Bucky was asleep or out with some ladies: the small pout on Bucky’s lips when he slid the razor across his jaw, the way he tilted his head back when he struggled with the tie knot, the furrow on his brow when his hair didn’t obey the gel and comb.

 

Steve had—and still preserves a few of them, hidden, of course— _notebooks_ filled with Bucky’s mug.

 

Apparently, Bucky doesn’t appreciate being left in the dark. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“It’s not a big deal, Bucky, it only happened a few times”. It is a lie, and Steve shouldn’t be lying to Bucky, but he doesn’t want to mess with his brain. “I’m telling you, it doesn’t matter—“

 

“Well, it does to me!” Buck takes a seat in the bed, next to Steve, and turns around to face him. “Am I ever gonna see them?”

 

Steve panics because he literally has like a dozen notebooks and handkerchiefs with Bucky’s eyes, Bucky’s nose, Bucky’s mouth— “Never”, Steve says, letting his fingers do what they do best: trace his features, harder now, not as gentle as they used to be. His eyes are more troubled, Steve notices, and it’s understandable, considering what Bucky’s been through, but they are the regular steel blue, warm and soul-piercing; they are still Steve’s home.

 

Bucky grumbles something, calls him punk under his breath a few times before leaning against the headboard. After a few minutes of silence, he asks, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“I told you, it’s not a big deal—“

 

“No, I mean, back then”, Bucky interrupts. “I remember you used to show me your stuff, from landscapes to portraits of strangers. Why not showing me—“

 

“Things were different, people were different, Buck”, Steve hurries, trying not to mess up Bucky’s nose. His fingers are shaking. “People would’ve thought—I mean, it might’ve been misinterpreted, you know?”

 

Steve can hear Bucky annoyance. “And since when do you care about other people’s opinions?” He yaps, and he sounds offended. “I wouldn’t have cared. You were all I had. You still are.”

 

The pencil falters, and Bucky’s left nostril ends up wider than intended. Steve clears his throat as he tries to hide the tremor in his right hand. “Well, now I know you don’t care about society’s prejudices and limitations”, Steve says. “That means you’re adapting well enough.”  

 

“I didn’t give a damn about them in the twentieth century, and I sure as hell don’t care about them now”, Bucky says. “I wish you—I’m surprised you _thought_ —“

 

“Stop frowning”, Steve warns, just to change the subject. And it works, because Bucky takes a deep breath and goes back to his unimpressed face; Steve can work with that.

 

“Can I move, at all?” Bucky asks, undoing his ponytail for the third time. “I’m getting numb.”

 

Steve groans under his breath because he’s still unsure on whether he should draw him with or without his bun, and Bucky doing and undoing it isn’t helping him in the slightest. Steve considers doing both of them. “No, you can’t”, he answers, just to tease him.

 

“Seriously?”

 

He tries really hard not to laugh. “Of course not, jerk. I’ve drawn you from memory; you can move all you want”.

 

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Steve wants to take them back, but he can’t—and, for a strange reason, he doesn’t want to, either—so he just stays there, waiting for Bucky’s reaction.

 

He hears Bucky clearing his throat, and when he speaks, his voice is small and soft, like he was afraid of something. “You, I mean—You’ve done that?”

 

Steve doesn’t want to look at his friend. “Yeah, all the time”.

 

Bucky avoids talking further about the subject; instead, he starts complaining yet again about Sam’s lousy wrestling skills, about Nat’s “too predictable” technique, about Tony breathing on his neck, asking him for permission to take a look at the arm. “And you,” Bucky says, “you keep fighting recklessly”.

 

Steve hums, not caring too much about it. “Do I?”

 

“Yes, you do, and _why_ ”, Bucky pleads, leaning forward, almost intruding Steve’s personal space, “do you keep looking at me?”

 

“Huh?” Steve mumbles, taken aback. Bucky is inches away from him, and Steve can see every single detail, every freckle, every wrinkle, every little scar. “I _am_ drawing you, I sort of have to—“

 

“You said you could draw me from memory”, Bucky mutters. He looks scared; it breaks Steve’s heart. “And yet you… you keep… you’re not even looking at the notebook”.

 

Steve wants to punch himself. While Bucky was rambling about their teammates, Steve just stopped paying attention to the paper under his fingers and kept his eyes glued to Bucky’s face, trying to capture everything he could. He didn’t think Buck would notice; he seemed too absorbed in criticizing the rest of the Avengers, that Steve thought—

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, hurriedly. He looks down, at the sketchbook on his lap, and the draw is almost finished but Steve’s hand cannot move. “I was just—I mean, the beard, you know, it’s new, and I—“

 

“Bullshit”.

 

Steve just mutters, “No,” before dropping the pencil. He can feel Bucky’s eyes on him, and Steve wants to meet them, he swears he wants to, but they’re so heavy, they’re digging holes into his skull.

 

They remain silent, and nothing can be heard except their breathing and the muffled sound of Tony’s rock music. Bucky shifts closer, whispers, “Hey” before taking ahold on Steve’s hand. “Will you look at me, please?”

 

Steve does, and they’re so close he can breathe Bucky’s last cup of coffee, he can see the cracks on his lips, he can _see_ his tongue between his teeth; Bucky’s mouth is rosy, slightly wet, incredibly delectable… Steve fights back the urge to lean forward.

 

As they stare in silence, Bucky’s ragged breathing doesn’t help Steve’s self-control. Instead, he thinks he stares at Bucky’s lips for too long, so long that Bucky himself mutters, “ _Steve_ ” like a prayer, once, twice, Steve doesn’t know; he thinks he’s overstepping the line, that Bucky is going to stand up and leave, but then—

 

Then Bucky closes the distance and crushes his mouth against Steve’s; it feels doubtful, like he didn’t know what to do. _Steve_ doesn’t know what to do: it’s been ages since someone had kissed him; Natasha had just pressed their lips together for ten seconds before pulling away, but _this_ … but _Bucky_ … Bucky is nervous and scared, unsure, Steve can feel it, he can feel him trembling like a leaf.

 

So he does the first thing it comes to his mind: he captures Bucky’s lower lip and pulls at it gently, enjoying the little sound that Bucky lets out, like a strangled whimper that melts Steve’s brain. Bucky takes ahold of his face, gentle hands cupping his neck and jaw, unsure of what to do next. Steve’s hands find Bucky’s thighs, and he sinks his fingers into the fabric covering them, wanting to feel the flesh. Bucky moans, and Steve thinks he lets out a very pathetic sound when Bucky’s teeth catch his lips.

 

“ _Steve_ ”, Bucky whimpers again. He opens his mouth, wide and eager, and Steve thrusts his tongue into it, and rejoices when Bucky fucking _melts_ against Steve, pulling at his hair, letting Steve take control—

 

Someone screams “Cap!” in the distance, and that breaks the moment. It also breaks their kiss: Steve pulls away rather abruptly, eyes fixated on Bucky’s now wet and cherry-red lips. There are footsteps getting closer and closer, and since Bucky seems too shocked to even move, Steve is the one that stands up and puts some distance between them, breathing still off the roof.

 

The door slams open, and it’ Sam, with a worried frown set on his face. “Hey, Cap, mission alert. We think Rumlow—” His eyes go from Steve to Bucky to the notebook on the floor. Luckily enough, it’s upside down, which means Sam can’t see the drawing. “Everything okay?”

 

Bucky doesn’t say anything; he just glares at the wall in front of him. “Yeah,” Steve says, clearing his throat beforehand. He prays Bucky won’t storm out the bedroom. “You were saying?”

 

“Rumlow, he might still be alive”, Sam says, in a hurry. “Did you read my texts? I’ve been texting you these past few hours.”

 

“Oh, no, we’ve been—training room”, Steve explains, which is a half-ass lie, but hey, he isn’t going to tell him that he had been drawing Bucky’s perfect face for the last forty minutes or so, “some chokeholds and whatnot.”

 

Sam hums, eyes narrowed. “Sure”.

 

“Bucky says you’re crap at wrestling”, Steve adds, mostly because he’s nervous.

 

“Hey, he said I was improving!” Sam seems slightly amused, but the furrow on his brow doesn’t go anywhere. “Maybe, what’s really going on here is that I have a crappy teacher”.

 

There’s a snort behind Steve, and Sam shoots a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Team is already waiting for you in the OP Center. And Barnes, of course”.

 

Steve waits until Sam leaves the room to turn around and face Bucky; he still has that stoic posture, shoulders stiff and hard glare throwing knives at the wall. He doesn’t faze when Steve stammers, “I, um—Team is waiting”; he just says “Sure”, before closing off again. Steve wants to stay, wants to kiss him again, but—

 

But what?

 

He opens his mouth to say something, but Bucky cuts in. “You should go”.

 

Steve nods. “And you?”

 

With a forced grimace that Steve suspects it’s a smile, Bucky just mumbles, “I’ll be right there”.

 

Steve leaves without another word.

 

What happens later is that the two of them avoid talking about it for a few days. Not days, but weeks: it’s been two weeks since The Incident, and none of them says a thing about it. Bucky was silent the moment he stepped out of the room and joined them at the OP Center, and he was silent the entire mission, watching Steve’s six like he used to back in Germany and Russia.

 

Once they locate Rumlow in a small town in the outskirts of Colombia, they capture him and they take him to a high-security prison, some lost island between in the Atlantic Ocean. Steve is transferred to the infirmary wing, since he got multiple wounds during battle. Bucky glares at him the entire ride to the Avengers Tower, and glares at him some more when Doctor Cho and her team guide the stretcher to the facilities.

 

Steve remembers seeing Bucky fuming when they didn’t let him come inside.

 

He doesn’t show up again, not when Steve is discharged, not when he’s recovering in his own bedroom.

 

In fact, Bucky doesn’t show up in the Avengers Tower for three days. Steve tries to call him, but he isn’t surprised when he doesn’t pick up. If Bucky wants to disappear, looking for him would be pointless. Still, Steve can’t help feeling somewhat guilty: he shouldn’t have let _that_ happen. It wasn’t okay to mess around with Bucky’s memories, and now—he screwed up. Big time.

 

Sam places a reassuring hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll come back”.

 

“I’d like to believe that”, Steve says. “But I don’t know”.

 

“Yes, you do”.

 

Steve shakes his head. “What I did—What happened between us—” He’s five seconds away from revealing everything. Sam doesn’t need to hear that. “I didn’t—I had no right”.

 

“I’m sure Barnes wanted it as much as you did”, Sam shoots, eyebrows almost reaching his hairline. “Hey, man, listen. Stop punishing yourself, okay? He’s a grown ass man, I’m sure you’ll work it out. Now”, he says, cutting Steve’s protests, “it’s movie night. You coming? Hell, they told me to drag that patriotic butt of yours to the living room if you said no”.

 

Walking by himself is something that Steve _can_ do, but he still needs assistance. The wounds were bad and deep, got a few organs smashed and some broken bones. Doctor Helen said the usual “You’re lucky to be alive, Mister Rogers”, and ordered him to stay put in the following missions. So, Sam helps him to get on his feet, but keeps his distance when they make their way to the common room. They are all in there, everyone, even Coulson.

 

Steve’d be happy if it weren’t for—

 

“You chose a movie, yet?” Nat says.

 

Tony suggests this “international acclaimed foreign movie” that had –and still has- all the teenagers crying their eyes out. “It’s Dutch, I believe. Almost an eight on IMDB”.

 

Everyone agrees on watching it.

 

From the get-go, Steve knows this will end up badly. Not for the boys in the movie, but for him. They are so similar to his current situation, yet so different. One of them more reserved, the other one, he’s more free-spirited. The dark haired guy looks at the blonde almost reverently, and it digs a hole in Steve’s hard.

 

It’s the road-at-night scene, and both of them are hurt, emotionally speaking. He thinks someone’s sobbing; it might be Helen, or even Coulson, Steve doesn’t know. He can feel his own eyes starting to sting when—

 

“Mister Barnes is in the facilities, Mister Rogers”.

 

Friday’s voice is soft in the speakers, and doesn’t say anything else. Steve can feel the eyes of the entire team on him now, but he just shakes his head, says “No, please, let’s not—just don’t” and keeps his attention to the TV, urging the others to do the same thing.

 

He feels rather than notices when Bucky waltz into the common room. He’s quiet, almost shy as he takes another step forward. His voice is small when he asks, “Is there a free seat?”, he doesn’t say a thing when Sam stands up and offers him his spot, right next to Steve. Sam ends up squeezed between Nat and Clint. Bucky drags his feet to the couch, and takes a seat.

 

Ten seconds later, Steve can hear Bucky’s soft voice asking, “What are we watching?”

 

Steve clears his throat. “ _Boys_ , I believe”.

 

Bucky hums, but remains quiet during the rest of the movie.  Steve, however, can’t focus. He’s hyperaware of Bucky’s presence, of the warmth coming off from his body, of his scent, similar to wildness, wind and moonlight. His posture is stoic, once again, but there’s a slight tapping on his right foot. Nervous? Anxious? Scared?  Steve finds himself dying to know, and he misses the end of the movie.

 

Turns out it Clint was the one sobbing, but everyone else seemed to be truly affected by the story of those two boys.

 

“Speaking of which”, Sam says once the lights went on. “I believe we had things to do, right Bruce? In your lab? Far away from the common room?”

 

They all mumble things like “yeah, yeah, we should go, yeah, goodnight, everyone” and scatter across the room, taking different directions and exits.

 

Steve wants to slap all of them.

 

With his shield.

 

He shifts, uncomfortable. “I’m sorry about that”, he apologizes, because Bucky still gets overwhelmed at how intense some of them can be. Tony, for example. Coulson, too. “They’re good people, they’re just—terrible”.

 

Bucky shrugs. “It’s fine”.

 

“Sorry, anyway”.

 

“And you?” Bucky asks, voice wary. “You almost—I mean, you got hit pretty badly”.

 

“Still recovering,” Steve says, gesturing at the patches and bruises. “I’ll be fine in no time”.

 

Bucky’s nostrils widen. “You’d be perfectly _fine_ if it weren’t for you and your reckless fighting, Steve, I’ve told you—”

 

“I know”, he cuts in, “and I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful next time”.

 

After Bucky nods in agreement, silence falls between them until Steve can’t hold it any longer. “May I ask… where were you?” When Bucky’s expression hardens even more, Steve hurries, “You don’t have to answer me, I mean, that’s okay—”

 

“I went to Brooklyn”.

 

Steve’s mouth hangs open. “You did?”

 

Bucky nods. “Then, I went to see Peggy”.

 

“Did she recognize you?”

 

“She did. Told me some truths I needed to hear”.

 

Steve gulps. “Oh? Such as?”

 

Bucky lets out a strangled laugh. “She said that I’m a moron”.

 

“A little”, Steve agrees, and rejoices when Bucky truly smiles, a smile that takes him back to the forties, when they were young and mildly happy, sharing a two-bedroom apartment, sharing food, sharing clothes, sharing everything.

 

God, Steve wants to—

 

“She made me realize something”, Bucky says, eyes down, his whole complexion screaming anxiety. He speaks as if he were choosing his words, one by one, carefully. “I mean, I’ve known for a while. When they… wiped me”, he gestures at his head, “it was you the last thing I saw. Every time”.

 

“Bucky, I’m—“

 

“No, you gotta listen, Steve”, Bucky interrupts, softly but decided. “I asked about you, but they punished me for insubordination. They said you were no one, that you were just a mission, that I had to take you down…”

 

Steve smiles. “You never did”.

 

“I couldn’t. I tried, you know I tried”, Bucky says, remorseful. “But I—I had you right there, beneath me, I was ready to break your skull with my fist, but—you were you, and my brain kept screaming _don’t do it, don’t do it_ …”

 

He starts shaking; Bucky’s eyes start to water, and Steve takes his hands between his own, trying to calm him down. Bucky looks down at his joined hands, and says, “I knew you were someone I needed to protect, that I had to keep close to me if I ever wanted to survive. Now I’m realizing exactly how important you are, to my past, my present… my future”.

 

Steve feels like something is stabbing his heart multiple times. “Hey, I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere”.

 

Bucky nods, squeezes their hands even tighter. “What happened between us”, he says, carefully, “and what happened to you with Rumlow—I mean, I tried remembering our lives in the forties, and when we were kids, you know? I tried to point out exactly when I started to—“

 

Bucky shuts his mouth. Steve’s breathing catches in his throat.

 

“Yes?”

 

When Bucky looks at him, there’s nothing more beautiful, nothing more pure than his eyes widened in amazement, in honesty, in fear. They’re so gentle; they’re almost caressing Steve’s soul.

 

“I’m in love with you”, Bucky whispers, and Steve just breaks. He hides his face in their joined hands and starts gasping for air, feeling tears streaming down his face. “I loved you then, I love you now”, Bucky adds, shakily. “And it’s okay if you don’t, really, I’m not—”

 

Steve’s body jerks up. “What—? Wait, you think I don’ t?“

 

Bucky smile grows wider and wider. “You do?”

 

Without thinking about it twice, Steve grabs Bucky’s face, strokes his jaw and cheeks with his thumbs, notices how shiny Bucky’s eyes are. “I’ve loved you ever since you kicked that bully’s ass, remember?”

 

Bucky lets out a snort. “In what decade? Or century?”

 

Steve laughs, and cries at the same time. He says, “You’re a jerk and I’m going to kiss you now”, waits for Bucky’s approval and joins their mouths together, softly, reverently; he kisses Bucky’s mouth like his own life depended on it.

 

They part a few minutes later. Steve keeps muttering _I love you_ ’s against Bucky’s lips, keeps stroking his hair, keeps him close—

 

“Hey Friday, did you get that?” Tony says.

 

“At least we’d get to know what happened with these boys”, Nat chirps. There is laughter, some _aww’s_ , some clapping, Coulson even says, “Nicely done, Captain” before showing two thumbs up.

 

Bucky groans. “I really hate your friends”.

 

Steve just kisses him again.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://www.alecmagns.tumblr.com)


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